Seanan McGuire - An Artificial Night

Lucky for me, that boy has been schooled in obedience since the day he was born. He shrugged and turned, unlocking the door. His courtly manners even carried over into holding it open for me before he followed me inside, where he collapsed onto the couch and dropped his head into his hands. I had to admire that—like most teenagers, regardless of breed, he had an almost instinctive grasp of the theatrical.

“Tie your shoes,” I said, dropping my bundle of clothes on the bookshelf before locking the door and turning to head for the kitchen. I needed to make a pot of coffee. He’d talk when he was ready, and most of my cheap fast food coffee was long-since gone.

I was filling the filter when he said, tentatively, “Toby?”

Jackpot. “Yeah?” I turned. He was standing in the kitchen doorway. “You going to tell me why you were camping on my porch?”

“Katie’s gone.”

I put the filter down. “You want to try that again?”

“Katie’s gone. She disappeared this morning.”

The name was familiar, it just took a moment to figure out who he meant. Oh, no. “Your human girlfriend.” He nodded. There was a sudden sinking feeling in my stomach. Please let him be here to tell me they broke up … “When you say gone, what do you mean exactly?”

“I don’t know. Away.” He looked down at the floor, continuing in a monotone, “She didn’t come to school this morning.”

It’s getting harder for the purebloods to pretend that the mortal world doesn’t matter, so they’ve started sending their kids to school—human school. Call it the hot new way to play faerie bride. I’m not sure what I think of the idea of a bunch of pureblood kids getting the human childhood I never had, but my opinion won’t reverse the trend. Quentin was in his second year at the human high school near Paso Nogal, and he was doing surprisingly well, all things considered.

I leaned against the counter. “She could be sick. Humans get sick.”

“I know that,” Quentin said defensively. “I went to her house at lunch to check on her.”

“And she wasn’t there?”

“No. Her mom said Katie was gone when she got up. She didn’t take her shoes or her bag or anything.” He swallowed hard before continuing, “I asked if I could look around her room to see if she left a note or something. You know. Investigating, like at ALH.”

“That was clever of you.” The sinking feeling in my stomach was getting worse. “What did you find?”

“No note,” Quentin said. “But …” He paused. “Don’t laugh, okay?”

“I won’t laugh,” I said quietly. Somehow, laughter was the last thing on my mind.

“The air in her room tasted funny. Like … well, like blood.”

“And candle wax,” I muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. Did you touch the windows?”

He frowned. “Of course not. Why would I touch the windows?”

I held up my hands. Lily did a good job, but I could still feel the burning if I thought about it too hard. “I don’t know. But if you had, you’d probably be in a world of pain.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Finish your story, then I’ll tell you mine.” He eyed me, and I added, “Promise.”

“All right.” He sighed. “Her mom came in and said I needed to leave. She was pretty worried.” He bit his lip. “So am I.”

“Understandably.” I picked up the filter and slotted it into place, then turned on the coffee maker. I needed more caffeine before I tried to deal with any more of this.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?”

“I probably should,” I said, and sighed. “Come on.” I pushed past him into the living room, not waiting to see if he was following; it’s not that big of an apartment. I sat on the end of the couch, tugging the hem of my skirt until it was even.

Quentin followed, sitting on the other end of the couch. Spike leaped into his lap, and he started scratching the rose goblin behind the ears. “Why would the windows hurt me?”

“Because Katie’s not the only one that’s gone,” I said. “Stacy Brown called this morning because her two youngest children were missing. When I searched their rooms, I found the same scents you found in Katie’s. I’ve also spoken to Tybalt, and he says five children disappeared from his Court last night.”

“Same smell?”

“Same smell,” I said. “I touched a window when I was following the scent trail. It burned my hands.”

“But they don’t look—”

“Lily healed them. Katie …” I sighed. “She’s pure human, right? Not thin-blooded or a merlin?” Humans with very small amounts of fae blood are sometimes still capable of working magic and perceiving the fae world; it’s rare, but it happens. We call them “merlins,” and we avoid them when we can. They’re dangerous, in their way.

“She’s human,” Quentin said, glaring.

I winced. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. But Quentin—whatever this is, it’s snatched purebloods, changelings, and now a human girl. What does that mean?”

“It means we have to get her back,” he said, jaw set in a hard line.

“Right,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Does anybody know you’re here?”

“Not exactly. I came straight from school.”

“So kids are disappearing and you just ran out? Did you at least tell Sylvester and Luna you’d be home late?” Quentin’s parents fostered him at Shadowed Hills to be trained in the courtly arts. I’ve never met them, but they must have been fairly minor nobility to place him in a court as unfashionable as Sylvester’s. Judging by the slight accent Quentin displayed in times of stress, they were somewhere in or near Canada. The Torquills are both his liege lords and his parents now, at least until the fosterage ends.

“No …”

“Maeve wept, Quentin.” I stood. “Stay where you are. Understand?”

He nodded as I stalked back to the kitchen, where I grabbed the phone and dialed the number for Shadowed Hills. The phone rang twice before a man’s voice came on the line, saying, “Shadowed Hills. How may I assist?”

I paused, amazement overwhelming my annoyance. “Etienne, is that you? ”

“Oh, blast. Hello, Toby,” he said, wearily. “Please don’t start.”

“Was the phone in danger? Did they have to get a big, brave knight to guard it?” Etienne is one of Sylvester’s most reliable knights. Pureblooded Tuatha de Dannan and so honorable that he squeaks—in short, boring as hell. I respect the man and even like him in the abstract, but when it comes to actually spending time around him, well, let’s just say that we’ve devoted a lot of time to driving each other crazy.

“Melly is out, so someone had to mind the phone. What’s going on?” It was impossible to miss the disapproval in his tone. I’m a lot more likely to just show up, trouble following on my heels, than I am to call ahead.

“Right. Sorry.” I sobered, saying, “Quentin’s at my place. He’s fine, and I’m about to bring him back to the knowe.”

“Quentin’s there? Why in the world would he be—”

“He came on his own, Etienne, I didn’t steal him or anything.” His answering silence betrayed how close I’d been to guessing what he was thinking. I sighed. “Please let people know that Quentin is safe and will be there shortly for you to yell at in person.”

“Of course,” he said, stiffly. “Open roads.”

“Kind fires, Etienne,” I said and hung up the phone.

I was smacking my head rhythmically against the wall when I heard Quentin clear his throat behind me, saying, “Toby? What’s wrong? Who was that on the phone?”

I stopped banging my head and straightened, turning to face him. “Come on. We’re leaving.”